Stop and Start
by readithoney
Summary: For the Masternation challenge. John explores his relationship with Dorian and himself. Self-love. (explicit content)


**Stop and Start**

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Well fuck me, another failed date. This one was clear on the other side of the city, in a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant of his choosing with thumping music and sticky floors. First off, he was way younger than he'd said he was on the dating site, and smaller, too. He was twenty, maybe, or younger, and about 95 pounds soaking wet. People probably thought we were father and son, except he kept slipping his toes up my leg and asking me if I liked "twinks." All I could do was stare at his bleach-blond hair and pray the waitress put a little hustle in her step.

I'm finally in my apartment and as soon as I walk in the door, I tug loose the buttons at the collar of this fucking dress-shirt. It's been digging into my neck all night. The place is quiet and lonely but I am thankful for that right now. I can't imagine bringing that little stick figure back to my place and watching him bounce off the fucking walls. Though, as I slick my palm up the front of my pants, I know the solitude is killing me just a bit. Maybe just a one night stand with the guy wouldn't have been terrible but bitterly, I know in my heart, he would have run like hell when he saw my leg.

My fucking leg. I sit at the desk and stab at the computer until the light screen appears and then slide through the browser until I enter the dating site. I am tired of these nights. I flick the button on the screen to delete my user profile permanently. I'm done. I'm out. Stop charging me for this bullshit. I close the computer and kick my shoes off under the desk.

I need a drink. I walk back to my bedroom and pull out of my clothes, leaving them in wads on the floor. I reach for my comfortable round-the-house outfit and dress with a sigh. A text message on my phone catches my attention.

_From Dorian: How did it go?_

Fucking nosey robot.

I write back: _Gonna be a late night. Don't bother me._

God, I'm such a fucking asshole. It is better for him that I keep this distance between us.

I pop a beer and nurse it on the couch. It's dark and quiet in my apartment and I can hear the water in slapping against the dock outside. I wonder what Dorian is doing right now, besides reading into my text, hopefully assuming I'm getting lucky.

I roll my head back into the couch and groan at the thought that tomorrow Dorian will scan my balls, against my direct orders, and know that I am anything but lucky. Maybe I can prevent that, but I haven't felt much like masturbating since my accident. The leg throws me off, and brings back memories that make me feel guilty. But right now, in the dark, cool silence, I feel myself stiffening at the thought. Maybe in this soft light I can get over my own insecurities and find some relief.

My hand slides at the waist of my pants and I spread my knees more so I can reach under and cup my balls. I roll my fingers, squeeze and pull at the soft skin. Yes, I can do this; Dorian can scan me all he wants tomorrow.

"Dorian," I whisper his name and my teeth catch my bottom lip, biting hard enough that I can taste copper. I think of the curves around his mouth, his prying blue eyes that see so much. They pierce me, torture me. I think of the soft feel of his skin when we brush against each other accidentally. The way he's the only one who gives a shit if my dates go well, or if I remember to eat, or if I am visiting a recollectionist. Or if I fucking die.

I feel my cock stiffen and grow heavy, tingling with intensity. I release it from the soft cotton pants I'm wearing, peering down in the dim light at my long-neglected member. I wrap my hand around the base and hold tight.

I realize that thinking about Dorian makes my synthetic leg seem less terrible. He's all synthetic and he's a better man than I am. I'm certain of that.

I try to imagine my date from this evening choking on my cock but I can't hold onto the fantasy. My mind wanders back to Dorian as I start working my swollen shaft. I brush my thumb over the head and feel my hips tilt. I have to stop or I'll come right now. It's been too long. I catch my breath and start again, stroking up from the base. My muscles tighten with the intensity.

And, of course, the doorbell is ringing.

I feel like a teenager caught by my mom again as I stuff my genitals painfully back into my pants and will myself up off the couch.

Barefoot, I pad to the door and see Dorian waving in the window. Do my texts mean nothing to him?

I slide the door open and he enters confidently. "I'm sorry your date didn't go well, John," he peels off his coat and puts it on a wall hook.

"How did you know?" I say, stupidly, "I mean, it didn't go that bad." I sound like an idiot.

"You deleted your profile, the guy said horrible things about you on the forum, and you're here alone in a state of—well," he lifted his perfect eyebrows and looked down at my crotch. Before I can even tell him to go fuck off a bridge, he's walking around turning on lights.

"Dorian," I say, he ignores me. "Dee."

He sits on the couch, his broad shoulders rolled back and his arms along the back of the couch. Who the fuck does he think he is?

"John," he pats the couch, my couch. My cock slicks and stretched the fabric of my pants when he says my name like that.

I sit down beside him because I have to; I look ridiculous standing in front of him with a raging hard-on. I think sobering thoughts. A naked MX. My grandmother's funeral. Jumping in a freezing cold lake. Richard Paul. Richard Paul's mom.

"Are you okay, man?" Dorian asks, he's scrutinizing me.

No, I'm not fucking okay. I'm lonely and horny and pathetic. I have pre-come on my shorts. I'm in love with an android. Oh shit. I'm in love with an android. My flagging penis snaps back to attention.

Dorian moves closer, puts his hand on my arm. "I think you like me, John."

My ears buzz.

"I _know_ you like me John," he reiterates, "and I like you, too."

The hair on my arms stands up straight and electric. He leans over and presses a kiss against my jaw, my chin, and finally my lips. I'm eager for this, forgetting to breathe. I kiss him back, my left hand roving over my cock through my pants involuntarily. He tastes clean, his full lips tug at mine, pull my mouth open and explore.

I've been binge dating. I've taken men and women out to dinner for months, endured vapid, pointless conversations. Made out with over-enthusiastic people I didn't want to be with. All of this, attempting to find a replacement for this person on this couch, his hands on my ribs, his teeth against my tongue.

He breaks away, looking at me. I'm like a horny teenager, trying to kiss him some more but he braces back against me, "You want this?"

I nod, "Uhn-hnn," desperate to taste him again, frenzied in my need.

He pushes me back on the couch. "Show me what you were doing when I got here." He turns toward me, bringing one knee up on the cushion.

"You bastard," I grin uncomfortably, "You were watching me."

"Get some curtains," Dorian chides, not even embarrassed. "Show me."

"Why?" I ask, my lips curling into a coy smile against my will, "Don't you want to help?" I can barely get the words out through my stupid smiling face.

"Nope," he says, his face even. I feel a shiver as I realize he is just waiting for me to do this.

I push my pants down enough to free my cock once again. Before I can start, he paws at them, yanking them down off my legs. I feel flushed. I can see my synthetic leg there in front of me. I try to ignore it but he strokes his thumb across it, disrupting the skin tone replicator and leaving traces of light where he touches, his other hand on my other leg. "Beautiful," he says it in a way that leaves no room for dispute.

I nod, the tide of my lip in my teeth again. I put my right hand down to massage my cock, my heart pounding with stage fright. I'm fearful that I'll come right away. My fingers feel electric.

Dorian observes quietly, his eyes looking into mine. I stroke my thumb up under the length of my member, gathering the oozing pre-come on the pads of my fingers and rubbing it into the stretched skin.

Dorian has my feet in his lap, running his palms up the bottom of my actual foot. I hold my breath and tense when he finally leans forward and lifts my scrotum on his fingers, gently smoothing his thumb over each of my balls. I spit on my palm and work at myself faster, pushing up the intensity in a way that tilts my hips and makes my thigh muscles clench and hold. My heels are digging into him and my left hand grips the couch like a clamp.

Dorian pushes his fingers back further, probing at the bundle of nerves beneath my testicles and slipping back closer to my ass. I can't, I can't hold on. I buck up and crush my teeth into each other as the shock of ejaculation starts in my balls and rushes up toward the head of my cock. I come up all over my hand and pulse onto my stomach. It's more than usual because it's been so long. I let my head fall back on the arm of the couch, wiping my hand off on my shirt.

Dorian pulls at my wrist, lifting me to sit up while I'm still in the throes. Dammit. But I go with it and straddle his hips on the couch. He's fully clothed, it's totally fucking unfair. He wraps his arms around me, his hands settling on my ass as I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Stay here with me," I ask into his neck and feel him nod. If he thinks I mean just for tonight, he's wrong.


End file.
